Home
by nowayoutofthis
Summary: She smiled, climbing back to his arms. Most of their mornings passed like this, a gentle whisper, caring touches, the smell of fresh lemon and soap of his skin. / Jem/Tessa, modern days


**Author Notes:** An anon requested this from me on tumblr! I was really happy to do it and these days I had a lot of inspiration. I am both a Will/Tessa and a Jem/Tessa shipper, so please, if you want to comment (it would be lovely) don't bash any of those ships. I dedicate this to the anon who asked, of course, and one of my dearest friends, Gwen (toraks on tumblr), because she ships them a lot and is a very awesome person. I'm sorry if they way I portrayed them doesn't live it up to your expectations =)

* * *

**You are the air in my breath filling up my love soaked lungs**  
**Such a beautiful mess intertwined and overrun**  
**Nothing better than this, oh, and then the storm can come**  
**You feel just like the sun**  
**Just like the sun**

**Sara Bareilles, Light**

* * *

For the first months they just wondered.

Two forevers in the skin of teenagers, always in silence, always speaking without really muttering anything. It was morning, somewhere in a tiny small town at the new old world, and she woke by the sunlight coming out of the curtains. It was such a quiescent moment - the tiny freckles of gold touching his sleepy eyes, dancing around the dark tangles in his head, making him seem the source of the sun.

(For her, he was the sun itself).

* * *

She trailed her fingers up and down his back, softly, slowly, carefully. Jem always had a light sleep, but now that he wasn't sick anymore - now that he could properly live - he spent his sleeping hours like a kid, longer and thougher. Not that she minded (not at all); watching him sleep was one of her favorite things: the way his hair curled slightly at the back, how the shadows of his eyelashes flickered on his cheekbones. He was handsome, but in some way also very pretty. The delicacy the Yin Fen had given him had left a few marks.

He shifted a ittle, and she withdrew her hand.

- No. - His voice came out a little grodgy from the sleep. - Stay.

She smiled, climbing back to his arms. Most of their mornings passed like this, a gentle whisper, caring touches, the smell of fresh lemon and soap of his skin.

* * *

A few minutes later, the girl slowly untangled herself from under him, two mess of soft pale limbs, and drifted away to the window. It seemed like it would be a nice day. She putted one of her old favorite dresses (the white one he gave her a few years ago) and left a note in the living room table.

* * *

_"back at nine. please, don't eat anything."_

_(between the words, an unspoken I love you.)_

* * *

It took her a while to get to the store on the corner of the street; she finds herself getting lost into the rainy sidewalks, staring at an unusual blooming flower, counting the clouds at the sky. After so much time existing - after so much time not feeling - she is living again, noticing the tiny things that she used to love, and it's all because of that boy, that light made into human skin.

She finally entered the place, an old bakery decorated with christmas lights. She likes the place. In a funny way, it's almost as old as her.

- Oh, hello sweetheart. - The owner greets her, a very small old woman. - What will be today?

- A pair of the dark cheese croissants. Four blueberry tarts. - Jem loves the blueberry tarts, she reminded to herself. - And do you still have the cinnamon rolls? They are my favorite.

She nods, and packs everything. The girl gives her more money than it's needed, and leaves the place.

* * *

A single note, a pair of pauses. More music, higher and lighter, music touching her like water touches the grass - fast, but soft, leaving small drops and hints it was there.

She approached the living room softly; she really didn't want to startle him, not when he was playing his music, their music, because it's one of the things she loved the most about him. But he listened to her - he is so aware of everything around him - and stopped.

- Tessa. - He turned to her, resting his violin on the window sit. He seemed surprise.

- Hey. - She said, placing the things on a table. - Are you composing?

- Yes. Kind of. - Pause. - Actually, it's already finished. I was going to show you today, since it's been... - He blushed a little.

- Six years we met together again. - The girl finished for him, causing both of them to smile. Tessa made her way to the kitchen. - I prepared something too, but it isn't art. God knows how much you dislike poetry. - She said in half a laugh.

- I don't dis... Is it food? - He asked, shining eyes already alert, having noticed the things she was carrying. He came behind her, and on tiptoes kissed the top of her head.

- Maybe.

- I love picnics! - He blurted with a children's smile, bouncing back to the window like a kid, getting his violin and instrument case.

- James Carstairs! - She said, trying to be serious, but failing miserably. - You better get back here to help me.

- I was kidding, Tessa. - He was already on her side again. - Sit down and relax. We still have the termic bottle? I will make some tea.

* * *

It took them more than the necessary time to leave the house - she keep distracting him with soft touches in his arms, and he kept distracting her with callused hands on her hips.

* * *

They went all the way to the park walking. Jem still didn't like cars.

* * *

It was a very chill day; the sun was up, bright but not to bright, warm but not to warm. With an old faded blanket in the open, they stayed there, in their own little world, a tangle of arms reaching for food and touches.

* * *

She lay down on the wet grass - green leaves touching her cheeks, a for of breeze messing a few strands of her hair. She watched him stand, take the old instruments out of his case and arch his back.

He looked into her eyes and than played.

* * *

He played their new years; Tessa teaching him how to use a cellphone, how to handle this new money, how things really worked. He played her, gentle and patient, always aware of how everything was different for him. He played their years in Paris - the time they spent at late-night coffees, she writing words and he writing music, a lovely silence only both of them could really understand. He played the time they were at China, lost at the crowded streets, chaotic and unusual and wonderful. He played the many music concerts they went at Germany, the art expositions they visited, the libraries they discovered. He played his hands on her hips, played whispered "I love you's", played kisses under blankets. He played a new beginning, a new story, a new era. He played of love and hope and home.

* * *

The silence after was full of unspoken words - they had a lot of silences like that, only eyes on eyes, their souls exposed in gray and dark brown.

- I love you. - She finally said, still in awe, still stunned by this ancient young boy.

He putted his instrument on the ground and gently - always gently, always lovely - lay down at the girl's side, and tugging the strands of Tessa's hair behind her ears, pulled her close and kissed her neck.

Yes, he played of home.


End file.
